Broken Promises and Broken Hearts
by BeThePiano
Summary: Marianne couldn't handle being away from him, even though it was her doings that drove them apart. She keeps calling him, hoping he'll answer so she can apologize and they can reconcile. He'd never know why he chose to pick up that time around, but it was probably because he was breaking, too. (Fem!France/England. FRUK with a twist. K for swearing.)


She promised herself she wouldn't call him. She promised herself she wouldn't text him. And she promised herself she wouldn't cry over him. But she had broken each of those self-promises a hundred times over in the time span of the month they had been broken up.

Pictures, letters, and little notes were spread around her, a half empty wine glass in hand. She had been sitting like this for nearly an hour, and had done this almost every other night when she got to thinking about him too hard or too much. She kept trying to tell herself she hated him, but she knew she didn't. She couldn't bring herself to ever hate him. Thinking about him made her drunk, resulting in her desperate attempts to reconcile with him over the phone.

Maybe she was starting to annoy him by bothering him at hours like this; It was nearly midnight, after all. Maybe that's why he cut it off with her this time, because she was annoying. But she wouldn't spare herself with a lie that was far from the truth itself: She couldn't keep her hands off of other men. They were sort of like "back-up" plans in case her relationships went awry. But the number of men she had in her contacts list wouldn't fill the hole she had in her heart. She had gotten more attached to him than she had expected. She still loved him, quirks, faults, scars, and all.

Her phone was sitting right beside her. Maybe she could call him and apologize until she was hoarse. If he would pick up the phone, that is. Her fingers itched for the cell phone. She didn't want to bother him, but God, she missed him. It was selfish, but she needed him. She missed him. So, she grabbed the phone, then dialed the number that was all too familiar to her fingertips and pressed it to her ear, praying he would pick up this time around.

"..."

"Hello?"

At the sound of his voice, she perked up, "Arthur! Don't hang up yet, please, I've got some things to say..."

"Marianne?"

"Yes, it's Marianne," she nodded, though he could see her, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

On the other end of the line, the Brit was sitting in front of his fire place, a strange rush of emotions swirling around inside him. He didn't know why he picked up that time. Maybe he wanted to hear her voice again, no matter how coarse or broken it sounded. Or maybe he was close to breaking, too.

"I'm not taking you back." He heard a choked sort of sound on the Frenchwoman's end.

"Arthur, please! I know I messed up, and I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Désolé, for God's sake!" she cried, wiping the tears that started to form at the corners of her eyes.

"Marianne," the Englishman said firmly, his voice nearly cracking with each word, "I'm not taking you back when you have half a dozen men wrapped around your finger."

"I don't care about them! They mean nothing to me! I've admitted that I fucked up-" Arthur was shocked to hear her use such language, but kept listening, "And I still love you. More than I planned to. I just...Miss you so much."

Where she had previously been leaning against the wall was now vacant as she sunk to the ground in an emotionally damaged wreck. She listened to his breathing, hoping for a response.

"I've given you two chances already," he started, "I'm not sure I can give you anymore."

He wasn't exactly sure why he kept going back to her, but he just did. He loved her, he truly did, he just didn't want to be hurt again.

"Arthur, I'm begging you...I would give up every man in the world if it meant I got you in the end," she replied, her voice getting softer and softer until it was hardly above a whisper.

"People can't just change like that, it takes time-"

"Don't you think I don't know that? I'm willing to change if you're willing to have the patience. It takes two to work through this."

A large sigh was heard on the opposite end of the line.

"One more chance, Marianne. Only one. If you-If _either_ of us muddle things up, then we're done for good, okay?"

The brunette smiled, a small swarm of butterflies flying around in her stomach.

"I promise I won't mess up! I promise, I promise, I promise!" Hopefully, this one she could keep.

"I'm only willing to try as hard as you will," he said with a small smile evident in his words, "But I promise I won't mess up, either..."

"Do you...Do you think you could come over...Right now?" Marianne asked meekly when a short silence fell between the two.

She heard him scoff, "At this time? It's past bloody midnight, and-"

"Je'taime."

"Why-Yes, I love you, too," he sighed, the sudden statement catching him off guard, "I'll be there in a few minutes..."

"Merci, thank you." Both ends went dead as Arthur hung up the phone.

Remembering the mess before her as she sat down the phone, Marianne hurriedly cleaned up, putting the picture frames and photo albums away, the wine glass in the sink, and the bottle in the cabinet. Just as she shut the pantry door, headlights flashed through the front window. The violet eyes woman ran to the door, opening it when she heard a few knocks. A disheveled looking Brit stood in the doorway.

"Hello, love-" Marianne cut him off, jumping onto him and hugging him, legs wrapping around his waist. For some reason, she had started crying again either from seeing him again or being able to be this close to him once more. She had buried her head in his shoulder, a few tears dropping off her cheeks and seeping into his shirt as she muttered "I'm sorry" or "Désolé" over and over again.

Arthur, in turn, kept telling her to calm down and that she was forgiven as he ran a comforting hand up and down her back as he held her.

"And hopping off me would be excellent, dear," he said with a light chuckle. A small laugh could be heard from the brunette as she let go of him, wiping away tears. He helped her wipe them away with his thumb.

In a swift moment, the two were closer than before, mouth to mouth as his hand slowly closed the door when she pulled him inside. Her arms were resting around his neck, and one of his hands was around her waist, pulling her to him as his other ran gentle fingers through her hair. Both had missed this and the feelings that came with it. They missed each other.

"I hope you know you're not leaving," she told him when she pulled away, nose to nose and forehead to forehead, "It's too cold to be sleeping alone."

"I didn't plan on leaving, anyway."


End file.
